November 7, 2013

Try Not to Burn: an excerpt of Michael Matula's debut novel

About Try Not to Burn:Shot to death in the
line of duty, rookie cop Brandon Morales awakens in a much darker world
than the one he left. Trying to make sense of it all, Brand stumbles
across Sam and Jane, two women simply struggling to survive. With their
souls hanging in the balance, and eternal damnation never more than one
wrong turn away, these three strangers will need to put their trust in
one another in order to stay one step ahead of the flames of Hell. But
when enemies pose as trusted friends, when lost loves crumble the will
to continue, and when hidden desires threaten to tear allegiances apart,
it will take more than faith and determination to pass God's final
test. It will take a miracle.

Try
Not to Burn

an excerpt

by
Michael Matula

“What’s she
doing?” Brand asked Jane. The girl, lying on her side now, allowed
the metal barrels of Sam’s gun to rest on the dusty floor.

“Getting
changed. We do this every single morning. My clothes are too small
for her, but I understand why she feels more comfortable in them.
Orange is really not her color.”

Soon
after, Sam walked back in, shutting the door behind her. The prison
uniform was nowhere to be found.

“Your
clothes are not too small for me,” Sam informed her friend, having
overheard her comment.

“I’m
five foot four, you’re five seven. Do the math,” Jane teased.

Brand
smiled. They almost reminded him of his sisters.

The
smile faded much faster than it had grown.

He
was dead. He would never see his sisters again. Or his parents. His
dog. His friends. The guys down at the station. He was dead.

He
had known it before, but this was the first time it truly began to
sink in.

“What’s
wrong?” Jane asked, seeing his expression, after relinquishing the
gun to Sam.

“I’m
dead,” he answered, looking at the floor, as if to find answers in
the dust.

The
dust was undisturbed except for where Sam had walked toward the door
and then back. Obviously the dust went back to normal every day too.

Both
of the women stayed silent, knowing he needed some time to think.
They must have known exactly what he was going through. They’d once
been exactly where he was.

It
was one thing to be alive and mourn for someone who had passed away.
But it was another thing entirely to still feel alive and know that
your family, everyone you loved, everyone you knew, was mourning over
you, and there was nothing you could do about it. There was no
message you could give your family, no means by which you could keep
them from crying, or make them feel better. Let them know you were
still somewhere. That you still loved them.

But
for Brand, there was something else. Something just as horrible, just
as difficult to swallow.

The
serial killer, Victor Gregory Rellik, had shot him dead and gotten
away with it. Brand had the perfect opportunity to stop him, a
routine traffic stop that could have nabbed one of America’s worst
mass murderers of all time. And he blew it. Royally. He didn’t even
swing and miss. Nope, never even got that far. Brand never f***ing
swung.

Even
now Rellik was probably counting Brand in his list of victims, a
notch on his sadistic bedpost, and plotting his next victim. If he
hadn’t struck again already. All Brand could do was hope someone
stopped him soon. Hope that bastard was caught.

Brand
had blown his chance to end it without further bloodshed, but that
f***er would get caught sometime. They always were. Those sick
bastards had a need to kill, and sooner or later all of the dead
bodies and evidence caught up with them.

Didn’t
it? Or was that just what people like Brand told themselves to help
them sleep at night?

Brand
looked up from the floor and saw both of the women standing near the
other wall, looking at him with concerned faces. Even Sam,
surprisingly.

“Sorry,”
he said.

“No
need,” Sam told him softly. “We’ve been there.”

“You
wanna’ talk about it?” Jane asked.

“I
think I just need some time. This is all a lot to digest. Finding out
I’m dead is bad enough. But that I’m in this place...” He
sighed and took a moment before speaking again. “But like you said
before, I’ll get used to it because I have to.”

Sam
nodded, and after a long pause said, “I had a brother I was really
close to. Me and my parents never got along very well. They were real
conservative, and as you might be able to see...” she pointed to
the tattoo adorning her neck, “I went through a period of rebellion
and we haven’t talked since then. And...I guess I’ll never have
an opportunity to ever again.” She shook her head and looked aside
for a moment. “I don’t know why I’m tellin’ you this. I don’t
even know you.”

“I
had two older sisters, Eleanor and Maria,” Brand said, hoping to
make her feel better about confiding in him. It was much easier for
him to try to comfort someone else than worry about himself. “And a
sweet little dog named Oddjob.”

“Oddjob?”
Jane asked, eyebrows raised.

Brand
smiled. “I know. I always loved James Bond as a kid. For some
reason my dad let me name the dog. The name could’ve been much
worse, I guess, if you think about it. Oddjob was a great dog,
though. Probably gonna’ miss that little guy the most.”

“I
was an only child,” Jane said. “My parents were always workin’
or traveling, so I’m used to not seeing them. I do miss some of my
friends, though. But even if I hadn’t died, my parents probably
would have moved soon anyway, and I would’ve had to make new
friends.”

Samantha
walked over to the window and looked out through the dirty glass. She
cradled the gun in both hands, holding it as though it was her
security blanket. He didn’t blame her. From what he’d heard so
far about the city, he’d glue the gun to his hand.